Page 40 of Protective Pucking Orc

She’d been offering herself because she felt she owed me.

The realization was a bucket of ice water over my head.

She was running from a male who had hurt her, who would hurt her again if he found her, and here I was, ready to take advantage of her vulnerability like some rutting beast.

Fuck.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, my Kteer howling in protest. Mate mine claim love taste fuck claim love Mate MINE!

But that wasn’t how this had to work. Not in her world.

I dropped my hands, my gaze landing on the mirror over my dresser. My reflection stared back at me—broad shoulders, dark hair, the green glow of my eyes bright with frustration. My tusks gleamed in the low light, a reminder of what I was.

An orc.

A male built for battle, for protection, for possession.

But Sofia wasn’t some prize to be won. She wasn’t a female to be claimed without her consent. She was mine—my Kteer roared it, my heart knew it—but she didn’t know it yet. And if I pushed her, if I took what she offered out of obligation rather than desire, I would lose her before I ever truly had her.

I exhaled sharply, my claws digging into my palms again.

Control.

Right. That’s what I was known for, after all.

I forced myself to turn away from the mirror, stripping out of my clothes with rough movements. The cold air of the room bit at my skin, but I welcomed it. Anything to cool the fire in my veins.

I pulled on a pair of loose sleep pants, then sat on the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.

She’s hurt. She’s scared. She’s running.

And I was the male who had sworn to protect her.

I lay back, staring up at the ceiling, my Kteer still a restless, snarling thing in my chest. The house was quiet, and I could hear Sofia’s breathing from down the hall, slow and even. She was asleep.

Good.

She needed rest. She needed time to heal—both her body and her mind.

I closed my eyes, willing my body to relax, my mind to quiet.

But sleep didn’t come.

Instead, I saw her face—bruised and beautiful, her dark eyes wide with something that had looked suspiciously like hope when she’d touched me. I heard her voice, soft and rough, telling me all the things she’d noticed about me, all the ways she knew me.

There is a knowing.

The thought was a knife in my chest, what my father had told us all those years ago when it came to Mating. He’d explained how the gods had chosen a Mate for all of us, and if we were lucky, we’d find her, know her.

She knew me.

And I knew her.

I knew the way her lips quirked when she was trying not to smile. The way her fingers twitched when she was nervous. The way she hummed under her breath when she was stressed, like she was trying to soothe herself.

I knew the way she looked at Rosa—like the sun rose and set in that little girl’s eyes.

I knew the way she carried her pain—quietly, stubbornly, like she was afraid to let anyone see how much it hurt.